Dragon Age: Passage Of The Champion
by Vault08
Summary: After the events that Hawke has encountered over the past 7 year, he takes those that remain loyal to him, and flee from the revolution he aided, unsure of where to go, or who to trust. The Champion Of Kirkwall searches for safety. *DA2 Spoilers*
1. Remnants And The Unknown

After the events that had just transpired, the last thing any of them wanted to do was walk, yet is was all they were doing. Right, left, right, left, the pattern was null and void, and only a simple repetition to drive them from point A to B now. None of them had realized it, but they'd gotten more exercise walking in the past 7 years than they had at any time before they had come together, but now was the climax of the bittersweet relationship with their own personal means of travel.

"Get the hell off of me, you nug-humping son of a bitch!" Varric shouted at a dragonfly buzzing around him.

Deep in a swamp at least a hundred miles from Kirkwall wasn't exactly where any of them planned to be, only a week after they had defeated Meredith, yet here they were, covered in sweat, and all with a bit of a temper. They were hungry and tired, yet they knew remaining in Kirkwall was a mistake. As they'd been informed by a merchant, more Templars had arrived in Kirkwall, and despite Aveline staying behind and swearing to attempt to talk some sense into them, it felt useless. Mages all over Thedas were rising up, refusing to bow to the ways of the Circle and the Templars.

Now, only 5 remained, out of everyone Draven Hawke had met in Kirkwall, and they followed him without question. Merrill, whom he loved, was almost expected to accompany her love, so Hawke couldn't question her loyalty to him. The others, however, were a mystery.

Fenris certainly had no regrets about leaving Kirkwall, though. He had murdered his former master in a shower of gore, yet thanks to Hawke's intervention, spared his sister. An action he regretted at that time, but was slowly coming around to the idea.

As for Anders, what else did the mage have? He had practically started this revolution, and he certainly brought it in with a bang – quite literally. Memories of surging his magic through the Chantry and blowing it to pieces remained fresh in his mind, and weren't going anywhere soon.

Varric, well, what else did the dwarf have? Betrayed by his own brother, Hawke couldn't complain about the dwarf following him around, chiming in with his two cents, gently seasoned with wit and sarcasm. Hawke had certainly grown accustomed to the dwarf's presence over the past several years, and despite not admitting it openly, he welcomed Varric in his travels, in Kirkwall, and beyond.

Right now, though, the dwarf was agitated more than anything.

"That's it! I show you no mercy, you annoying bastard!" Varric would shout, before swiftly pulling his crossbow from its holster, aiming, and firing all in a swift movement. Boy, did those crossbow lessons as a kid pay off! Bullseye, the dragonfly was now pinned to a tree, shot directly through its abdomen, dying with only a small squeak.

"Heh, you never fail to let me down, Bianca." Varric said, with an arrogant smirk. He kissed his crossbow before returning it to its holster, and moving along with the group.

"Good shot. Though, you may be taking it a bit too far with the crossbow. It is just a piece of wood and metal. You realize this, right Varric?" Fenris asked, using his hand to push his sweaty hair, which had caked to his forehead, away so his view was clear.

"Excuse me? Bianca is not 'just-a-piece-of-wood-and-metal', elf." Varric said in a feigned-offended tone. "She is a master of her kind, and I trust her with my life. Plus, I've always been faithful to her."

"Pfft. As if anyone or anything else with eyes would touch you, Varric." Fenris said, shaking his head.

The setting alone had provided more than enough for anything to take the blame. The humidity was high, and everyone was sweating in this forest. Foreign creatures roamed the jungle-like atmosphere, and more than once the group had spotted a giant spider, though they avoided combat unless absolutely necessary. The constant stream of water that the path they were walking on was next to would be believed to add ambiance and calmness, instead, with bugs and animals constantly chatting to themselves and going for a swim, it provided an annoyance it itself, simply existing.

Hawke was, of course, only half listening to his companion's idle chit-chat. The truth was, he was very uncertain where they were headed. His lack of a plan certainly wasn't evident, but marching along a swamp miles from civilization wasn't the best place to be, despite any other circumstances.

"Are you alright, Hawke? You seem...distracted." Merrill would ask, increasing her pace to keep up with Hawke.

Shaking his head, he turned and nodded. "Oh...yeah. Sorry, I was just...thinking. Merrill, where should we go?" He asked in a tone that sounded surprisingly desperate, coming from the Champion of Kirkwall. But to Merrill, his lover, it didn't come off as such.

In the last year, he'd met King Alistair, and the two had gotten along well. They could go to Ferelden, though Hawke assumed the worst. Alistair had said it himself, he was an ex-templar. It probably wouldn't take much persuading for someone to have Hawke arrested and executed for what he'd done, though he was glad some people, such as the group with him, sympathized and agreed with what he'd done.

"If you're worried about our safety, I'm sure there are some Dalish clans out here. I...well, I suppose I could talk to them and-" She started, attempting to be of any assistance she could.

"Merrill, I doubt we can live amongst a Dalish clan forever. Besides, we'd always be moving. We need...somewhere to go where we're safe. From the Templars, and everyone else."

"We don't have to stay in Thedas, you know." Merrill chimed in. Hawke, at first, thought she was just being blindly optimistic, as she always seemed to be, but after a moment, he nodded.

"That's not a bad idea, Merrill. We just may leave."

Suddenly, their conversation was cut short as several men dressed in black leaped from the trees and landed in front of the group. Hawke stepped forward, hand resting on the staff on his back, hoping the men would either recognize him as the Champion Of Kirkwall, and leave, or were at least smart enough to realize an Apostate Mage threat when they saw one.

"Well well..." one of the men spoke up in a heavy accent, hinting that they were Elves.

"Something you need, or did you fellas just want to join our little picnic, here?" Varric chimed in from the back.

"Ha. Ha." One of the men said, mocking a laugh. "Your coin, sir. All of it. Now."

Hawke certainly wasn't in the mood for this idiot. Being covered in sweat from a humid swamp, coupled with the headache that was forming from trying to figure out where they were going was more than enough to bog down his mind, and these thieves were just the last push he needed to send him over the edge.

All in a swift movement he pulled his staff from his back and cast a Cone Of Cold spell, impaling most of the men with ice. Archers from the trees began shooting arrows down, and one sunk deep into Anders's shoulder, acknowledged with only a cry from the healer-mage.

Moving back, Merrill provided cover fire, firing several simple attacks from the end of her staff. "Creators have mercy on you, thieves!" She shouted as she downed one of the attackers.

"Here!" The leader of the thieves shouted, causing Hawke to turn. The leader brought his blade up in a swift movement, slicing into Hawke's chest. Because of the heat, he had taken his armor off in favor of sleeveless robes, and the blade cut directly through the easily-torn material, drawing fresh blood.

"Damn!" Hawke shouted, though suddenly the man's head was impaled by an arrow, and a laugh from Varric quickly followed.

"Bianca will never let you down, Hawke! But remember, she's faithful to -me-!"

Turning quickly, Hawke caught the thieves that had been impaled with his Cone Of Cold attempting to flee, so he figured he'd let them taste the other end of the spectrum – heat. Sending a large blast of flame, the remaining thieves burned.

Aiming his crossbow upwards, Varric quickly let loose a rain of arrows shooting down from the sky, hitting everyone except his companions. The archers in the tress fell to the ground, imapled by arrows. As if the arrows hadn't killed them, the fall to the ground had.

"Hmph. Bianca, sometimes you are too generous to grant thieves death so quickly." Varric would comment, holstering his faithful.

Anders slowly pulled the arrow that had got him from his shoulder, tossing it aside. "Maker, that burns." He said, before casting a healing spell on himself. The wound closed, but the pain would remain, albeit much less intense, until he got a chance to rest.

"We'll make camp a mile ahead. We can figure out what we'll do, get Anders patched up, and figure out...just where we are going." Hawke said, before turning and nodding to his companions.


	2. Aftermath

After making camp for the night, the small group sat around a fire, each tending to somewhat meaningless tasks to simply pass the time. Varric had proposed a traditional storytelling around the campfire, but everyone was worn out from the long day's travels, with large blisters on their feet, in addition to the fight they had encountered with the thieves. As such, Varric's tales of who knows what would have to wait for another night, despite his eagerness and energy to share whatever fabled legend he had prepared to tell them.

The moon sat high in the sky, shining down on their bare camp, consisting of a fire and blankets spread out for sleeping. Pieces of dried bread or dried meat that hadn't expired were found on a plate, along with a few jugs of water. They were deep in the swamp now, but had managed to find a small clearing mostly free of annoying insects, and the constant pit-pat of water, leaving only the wind and the occasional wolf howling as the ambient sounds.

Hawke and Merrill were sitting on a log, smiling at each other and chatting idly about nothing in particular.

"Nah, I'm not gonna bother them..." Varric thought to himself, turning his gaze on Fenris, the white-haired elf with lyrium burned directly into his skin.

Fenris seemed to be reading a book, that, or he wanted to appear busy. After seeing him turn the page often enough to label it legitimate reading and not to warrant Varric, or anyone else, from disturbing the elf, he turned his gaze on the only person left who hadn't said much the entire day. Come to think of it, he hadn't said much since they'd left Kirkwall.

Anders.

The healer-mage had taken his coat off and was rubbing a sort of healing potion directly onto the wound, wincing at the stinging where the arrow had torn his flesh. Though, simply from observing him, one could tell his mind was elsewhere, definitely not focused on the wound.

"Say, blondie, what's going on? You haven't said more than two words today, and I don't think you've managed a complete sentence since we fled Kirkwall. No more dreams of murdering templars?" Varric asked in a light-hearted nature.

"Nope. Out of luck, I suppose." Anders retorted in a supposed-jokingly manner, but even Varric could tell by his tone, he was hiding his real thoughts and feelings.

"Come on, Blondie." Varric said, sitting down next to Anders. "Open up to Uncle Varric a bit. What's going on?"

"Just..." Anders started, lowering his gaze, obviously debating on whether to talk to the dwarf or not. "I don't know, Varric. What do you think of what I did?"

"The chantry needed remodeling anyway. They should've payed you to clear it out."

Anders shot Varric a gaze, telling him to drop the sarcasm. Varric put his hands up in a defensive manner, his eyes widening.

"Easy, easy...well, I'm no mage, but I can see why you did it. Not everyone agreed with it, though...just those of us here."

"Yeah, I know..."Anders said, shifting his position. "I didn't even know if Hawke, a fellow mage, would agree. I'm not even sure he still does. Mages everywhere are rising up. This could mean civil war, or worse..."

"Don't forget, Choir-Boy promised to return from Starkhaven and avenge the Grand Cleric...you may have more to worry about than you thought."

Anders slowly gave a reluctant nod, acknowledging Varric's comment. Though, truth be told, he had forgotten about Sebastian for the time being. Who knows when he would return, or where to. Probably Kirkwall, but Anders was thankful that they were gone. But, having traveled with Sebastian, Anders knew he wouldn't give up easily, and that he will probably find him, it just may be later, rather than sooner.

Afterwards, only silence could be heard for about half a minute, with a particularly opinionated statement chimed in from a certain-white haired elf being the only thing heard.

"Must you pester everyone, and remind them of their past mistakes, Varric?" Fenris asked in a retorting, unimpressed tone as he closed his book and tossed it aside.

"Heh, I'm sorry, Broody. I didn't think you were listening. Of course, this is coming from someone who originally sided with Meredith, then at the last minute, re-joined Hawke."

"Hawke thanked me for my support, and besides, he was right. I do not condone slavery, and I can relate to the mages being locked up and forced to do as the templars pleased."

"My my, it appears someone has had a change of heart. Should I transfer you to the nearest circle? With all that lyrium burned into your skin, you must be a mage!" Varric shouted sarcastically, giving a small laugh afterwards.

"Hmph. Just because I can sympathize with a certain people, does not mean I trust any or all of them. Blood mages are still dangerous, and you saw what Orsino did. Even the First Enchanter resorted to blood magic!" Fenris shouted back, angered.

Clearly, this was a sensitive topic that only one side was taking seriously.

"Maker, can't you two be quiet?" Hawke chimed in, standing up. He was clearly annoyed at the bickering between his companions.

"All in good fun." Varric said, trying to calm Hawke down.

"For one of us..." Fenris said, laying down on one of the blankets he had set out, rolling onto his side and attempting to get some sleep. With luck, that fool Varric would shut up for the rest of the night, and Fenris could rest.

Hawke smiled to Merrill, sitting back down. "Sorry. I think they get...cranky. That, or Varric just likes kicking things up to mess with the others." Hawke said, shooting Varric a gaze. Varric smirked and winked at Hakwe.

"Heh. Seven years with him, and you haven't learned that's his favorite past time?" Merrill asked, smiling to Hawke and kissing him on the cheek.

"Alright, I think we should get some rest. 'Night, everybody." Hawke said, and proceeded to lay down next to Merrill, on their blankets.

"Don't stay up too late, Varric." Merrill chimed in, before blowing the lantern out.

"No promises, Daisy." Varric replied with a small chuckle, though he was asleep before the hour had passed.

But, Anders remained awake, simply sitting in the dark. His mind was overloaded with thoughts. Was this right? Was this wrong? He regretted blowing up the Chantry, killing the Grand Cleric...but it had to be done. There was no peace, there was no compromise. There was only templars and mages, and the question of when the war would begin.

But now, that question had been answered.

A week had passed, and the Champion Of Kirkwall, along with his companions, had traveled through the swamp and caught a ride on a merchant's wagon, who left them at a city they had never seen before. Yawning, they all got out of the wagon and glanced around. Dawn had barely shown itself, and thus, nobody was out and about, yet.

"Damn wagon...my back aches." Varric said, rubbing his lower back. "Anders, could you..."

"Absolutely not." Anders said.

"...give me a potion?" Varric finished.

"Oh. Erm...okay." Anders said, shaking his head, disgusted at what he had thought the dwarf wanted.

Hawke and his companions continued down the road. They came upon a large city, the road they walked was populated with statues of people, animals, various figures of religion, and many others. This seemed to be the culture around here, artistry displayed openly with much love.

"Hm. This one looks like you, Varric." Fenis commented on a statue of an overweight mabari.

"Ah, Broody. So playful. When we get in the city I'm getting you a haircut and a bottle of the finest ale I can find. That oughta cheer you up."

Fenris shook his head. No matter what he said, the dwarf always had a comeback that was either overdosed with sarcasm, or completely not worth listening to. In most cases, it was both.

"Wait...so we're just going to walk into this city?"Anders asked. "There's likely going to be templars, and there's no doubt Sebastian has spread my name as being the one who-"

"Easy, Anders." Hawke said, shaking his head. "We'll be fine." He said in a reassuring tone. B

ut the truth was, they were literally out of food and supplies to keep camping. They had plenty of coin, but traveling merchants were scarce, and they needed a decent bed and meal, it had been two and a half weeks since they'd fled Kirkwall. Two and a half weeks of sleeping on the hard ground, eating only food that didn't expire without being kept at a certain temperature, and constantly walking. Hawke was sure he'd dropped at least fifteen pounds.

"Wait..." Merrill said as they neared the gate. Two guards were present, and several statues of soldiers lined the road to the city gates. "I know where we are."

"You do?" Hawke asked, surprised. He'd never ventured this far before, and his plan was to find a relatively small city that was either forgotten, or that nobody knew about, and stay there. The fact that Merrill knew this city made him second-guess going in.

"We're in Nevarra." She said.

"And that, is Nevarra City." She said, pointing at the gates.

"Nevarra? We must've come further than I...thought." Anders asked. He'd heard of it, and that explained the statues, it was a very art-oriented nation.

"How the hell did we get here? How did we cross the border?" Hawke asked, confused. Certainly, they couldn't actually be in Nevarra, could they?

"The merchant's wagon...they must've just assumed we weren't there. The blanket over the wagon covered us!" Anders exclaimed.

"We were smuggled in?" Fenris asked, a wrinkled facial expression at the thought.

"We should be safe here, then?" Varric asked.

"Should be." Merrill replied. "They have...different beliefs here. They do not bury the fallen, they build tombs. It's tradition. Even young royalty have tombs being prepared for them, underground. They take it one step further, though. It's not just a burial chamber, the 'tomb' is practically a house, with a washroom, gardens..." She continued.

"Great. I'd love to die here." Fenris said, heading toward the gate.

Nobody could tell if he was serious or not.


End file.
